


You Do Something to Me

by pmastamonkmonk



Series: YDSTM [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21701035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pmastamonkmonk/pseuds/pmastamonkmonk
Summary: Alastor's radio signals go both ways, and for the past few decades he's tuned into the most beautiful voice. What a surprise to find the source in the Happy Hotel right under his nose.A relationship that grows through music.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: YDSTM [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578112
Comments: 144
Kudos: 1835





	1. Hands to Myself

Alastor’s renown as the “Radio Demon” was known well enough among the denizens of hell and while it came from his ability to broadcast – no one had ever seemed to wonder if his signals went both ways. Mores the pity, to be underestimated so.

From his radio tower, he was able to tune into any frequency from around the Pentagram and listen in where any microphone or audio device was available. It was invaluable when it came to seeking out information about potential foes, the other Overlords, or just filling up a boring evening listening in on some random drama happening between two nobodies. It was on one such night where he was cycling through stations that he had stumbled upon an absolutely gorgeous voice and he found himself entranced.

At first he thought it might just be a recording, as the familiar tones of _“We’ll Build a Little World of Our Own”_ filtered through the air, but the voice was far too masculine, though it had something soft to it. For once in his life, Alastor cursed his lack of desire in visuals – he had no way to see the source of such dulcet tones that crooned out songs he knew from his time alive as well as more contemporary music, each as well sung as the last. It went on for almost an hour, the person mindlessly singing to themselves.

He tuned into the same station the next evening only to find nothing. And again the next, and again the next. Frustrated, he began his mindless scanning again. Curse his luck to finally find something entertaining in this hellscape only to be unable to keep a firm hold to it. Now he’d have to find something else to capture his attention.

Coasting past streams of background noises, a loud argument – which he'd paused on for a moment “You are absolutely correct, Sharon, David _is_ a roustabout and you are much better off without him!” – and the overwrought sounds of pornography, he clicked rapidly away only to stumble on that same, dare he say _beautiful_ voice on a completely different channel miles away from the original. He was baffled for a moment, but settled back, once more, to listen as that voice serenaded.

A week later he stumbled onto another channel. And a few days later yet another. It seemed the voice had no permanent residence or place of performance and instead traveled around the Pentagram, not often returning to the same place. Alastor managed to track them down several times and thought, briefly, of traveling to the location to see for himself – but it was never a performance hall or bar that the signal came from. More often than not it was a vehicle or private domicile, once it was caught from the speaker of a defunct fast food restaurant in the seediest part of town. Instead, he elected simply to enjoy the performances from afar, listening along with a glass of bourbon on quiet evenings from the safety of his radio tower.

So it went for years, decades, and while there would often be long stretches of time where he could never find the voice despite searching endless channels, it always returned.

\--

The Hotel was quite entertaining, Alastor found. Their original rag tag group had expanded as word got around that THE Radio Demon was supporting them. It seemed like every other week at least one new occupant was walking through the door and Charlie was trying to find new ways to aid them on their path to redemption.

He found the daughter of hell endlessly amusing with her bright eyed naiveté and her reckless desire to aid anyone she believed to be in need. Without Vaggie standing dourly behind her, Alastor was certain the poor girl would have been quite taken advantage of at some point. It was rare to ever find one without the other.

Nifty and Husker had taken to their positions with relative ease and only constant minor griping on the bartender’s end. An endless supply of cheap swill and a roof over his head kept him at the hotel, and Nifty would stay as long as there were messes to clean.

The resident drug addicted prostitute and self proclaimed mascot of the hotel managed to raise Alastor’s hackles more than he cared to admit, however. The other man seemed dead set on making a bother of himself – always eager to put his nose in everyone’s business and especially eager to put not only his nose in Alastor’s business, but most of the rest of his person.

The other man was entertaining in his own way, Alastor mused. His lack of shame and the reactions it got from others was amusing enough, however when Alastor became his target it was markedly less amusing. Angel’s main personality trait was that of being overbearing and impossible ignore. Louder than anyone else in the room, brighter – always seeking attention even if it was negative. From stripping in the lobby during what should be a simple outing search, telling bawdy stories and jokes at the bar uncaring of his audience, or just prancing around the hotel half naked, Angel wanted everyone to know that he was here and they were going to have to deal with it.

They had struck something of an accord after the first few instances of “Five Foot Rule” being forcefully maintained. Angel had cued in very quickly to the fact that Alastor found his bawdy language and flirtations less than endearing and in deference to his attempts to temper such behavior, he permitted the spider certain… allowances to his personal space in the form of shoulder touches, elbow jabs, and other platonic gestures. It was much easier to stay in close quarters and Alastor found Angel much easier to tolerate and to deal with in the long run.

He hadn’t seen the salacious guest all morning as he made his rounds, idly inspecting and noting of anything that should be fixed immediately and, more so, noting what could be left alone to create a possibly entertaining outcome in the future. One list would be given to Charlie, the other… well, sometimes one needed to make their own fun on a rainy day.

As he entered the main lobby, he caught sight of their entrepreneurial owner pinning a large poster to the wall with Vaggie’s assistance, drawing his attention and curiosity closer.

“A talent show?” Alastor asked, peering over Charlie’s shoulder as she put the final push pin into the poster, securing it to the wall.

“I think it’ll be fun!” she beamed up at him, smoothing one of the corners before picking up a small stack of fliers. “It’ll give the residents something fun to focus on while they work towards redemption! Everyone has some sort of talent!”

Alastor hummed indulgently, eyes half mast as he perused the poster. “Is this why you were renovating the ball room?”

“Well,” she wiggled a bit as she was prone to, “we were already renovating the lounge area to add more space and some of the rooms… and we needed a stage and a place for the audience to sit to watch! I want it to look nice, right Vaggie? Now we can have even more parties and shows!”

The white haired cyclops hummed her agreement and Alastor turned his attention to her. “And what talent will you be showcasing, my dear?”

“My talent of putting up with your bullshit.”

Alastor let out a loud bark of laughter. “Marvelous! Simply marvelous, and who else should we expect to see?”

Vaggie looked to Charlie with an uneasy frown. “Well…” the daughter of hell wrang her hands together, “no one’s actually signed up… yet! But I only just finished planning it! People need time to think of their talents and sign up since it’s not for another week!” she turned towards the bar. “Husk! You’ll do a talent, right?”

Nose wrinkling in a grimace, the bartender pointedly turned away, continuing to roughly wash the glass in his hands. Charlie’s face fell a bit, but she forced her smile back on as she looked around the room for other _volunteers._

“Angel! Angel, you’ll be in my talent show, won’t you?”

The spider demon paused mid stride, popsicle held to his lips and eyebrow raised. “Your what now?” he popped the dessert into his mouth, sucking softly as he approached the group, mindless to the gazes of the male bar patrons following him. Dressed in a crop top sweater that stopped just barely below the fluff of his chest and a pair of short, high waisted shorts, it wasn’t surprising the former porn star was drawing looks and Alastor felt his smile twitch at the unsightly behavior. Angel hummed around the frozen treat as he looked over the flier in Charlie’s hand, finally removing it with a slurp. Alastor winced. “A talent show? Really, toots?”

“I think it’ll be fun.” Charlie pouted. “You like to perform, you should do an act.”

Angel pursed his lips before popping the popsicle back into his mouth for a quick suck. “Yeah, sure. I can come up with an act for your show. Do I have to be alone or can someone help me out?”

“You are _not_ having sex on that stage.” Vaggie hissed, glowering at the other demon.

Placing one of his lower hands to his chest fluff, Angel looked affronted. “Oh, that was an option?” he batted his eyelashes. “Nah, I’ve got a better idea. Somethin’ classy. You’ll like it.” He booped her nose with the tip of the popsicle, leaving a purple smudge behind, smirking as he slipped it back into his mouth. Vaggie hissed, wiping at the sticky mess as Angel began pulling the stick out slowly and swallowing down the rest, waving the now clean stick in her face. Opening his mouth provocatively, he waggled his eyebrows at Vaggie’s disgusted look before turning back towards Charlie. “So how’s bout it? I can have a partner on stage?”

Charlie tilted her head and grimaced a bit, “As long as you’re not… having sex. Or stripping.” Angel’s brow rose. She paused. “Or pole dancing.” Another pause and Angel’s brow rose further. “Or… uh… getting naked at all.” She coughed a bit, looking to Alastor for help and the radio demon simply smiled his normal smile, observing them as he usually did. “Then… yes. I don’t see why not. What… what are you gonna do?”

“Oh sweetheart,” Angel leaned forward, purposefully pushing his chest fluff out, accentuating his curves, “A real actress never spoils the performance before curtain rise.” He stood back to his full height, one pair of hands on his cocked hips and the other folded under his chest. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

\--

The Talent Show was going well, Alastor mused from his position off to the side of the darkened ballroom. He had declined Charlie’s many requests to host the event, rather wanting to enjoy the tire fire from the point of view of the audience. Many of the hotel’s occupants had been convinced to do some sort of performance ranging from the mundanity of card tricks from Husker to more eclectic talents such as painting a portrait blindfolded. One of the newer occupants had performed a soliloquy from Hamlet to scattered applause while Vaggie had, at Charlie’s urgings, performed a positively _darling_ baton twirling routine.

True to his word, Angel had managed to keep his talent a complete secret from everyone, practicing somewhere off hotel property and Alastor found himself somewhat eager to see what the spider had put together for them. At minimum it would be an absolutely failure of a trash pile perfect for mocking as many of the routines had proved to be, else it would show insight into the prostitute unknown to any of them.

Charlie was back on stage as a scaled lizard demon finished his jump rope routine by managing to tie his feet up and had to be dragged off by Vaggie and Husker. Alastor chuckled into his whiskey, how pedestrian. The daughter of hell awkwardly chuckled, asking for another round of applause for the performer, receiving a half hearted smattering.

“Now for our final act of the evening, many of you already known him from his many appearances and tonight he promises a performance we won’t soon forget. It’s Angel Dust!” she peered at her announcement card. “And assistant.”

Alastor perked up, ears twitching forwards as he awaited this performance to start. The lights went low and he could see Nifty and Husker bringing a table and chair onto one end of the stage. The audience murmured amongst themselves and Alastor could hear one patron asking if Angel was going to get fucked on top of the table to resounding laughter and whoops from his tablemates. As Husker and Nifty vacated the stage, a tall man wearing slacks and a collared shirt Alastor didn’t recognize took the seat and the lights barely rose.

_“Can’t keep my hands to myself.”_

Jerking to attention, Alastor almost choked on his drink. That _voice._

_“No matter how hard I’m trying to.”_

The lights rose, still dim but bright enough to see. Music began to pulse behind the vocals as Angel Dust strut in from the other side of the stage in a sparkling show outfit of black sequins and lace. His waist was cinched even smaller than usual with a bejeweled corseted one piece, his chest fluff puffed and proud above it. His usual pink gloves were replaced with black lace and swishing behind him were layers of tulle and glittering mesh creating a fluttering train that accentuated his strutting steps.

And he was _singing_.

 _“I want you all to myself.”_ He finally reached the other man, leaning over him with his upper arms outstretched over his shoulders lower pair clutching at his waist, pushing close. _“You’re metaphorical gin and juice.”_ The other man grabbed his wrist, spinning to pull them chest to chest and, despite Angel’s height advantage, seemed to loom over the other man.

Angel Dust was unfazed. _“So come on give me a taste.”_ He allowed the other man to push him back with measured steps as the grip on his wrist slid into his hand. _“Of what it’s like to be next to you.”_ With a push, Angel was spinning on the toes of his heels, before catching himself in a close embrace and dropping seamlessly into a low split. _“Won’t let one drop go to waste.”_ He was pulled to his feet and as one of his upper hands slid to the other man’s shoulder, a firm forearm curling around his waist and Alastor realized all too awkwardly that his jaw was dropped.

_“You’re metaphorical gin and juice.”_

They were dancing the _tango_ together. And Angel was _good!_

Their steps were practiced and well matched, their turns flawless, and their footwork perfectly in sync. And no matter how they moved, Angel didn’t miss a beat with his voice. _That Voice_. The voice that Alastor had chased over channels and frequencies across the Pentagram and it was here in this hotel with him the past few months and he was completely unawares. A voice befitting an actual angel coming from the bawdy, open legged whore better known for his talent of handling four cocks at once and Alastor did not know what to do with himself.

 _“All of the downs and the uppers, keep making love to each other.”_ Angel was spun on one heel, his other leg bent into a perfect angle as his assistant leaned him sideways, giving a perfect tableau of their bodies before pushing back and allowing him into a low crouched sweep. _“And I’m trying, trying, I’m trying but I… can’t keep my hands to myself.”_

There was a pause in the music, Angel Dust’s hand poised on the other man’s cheek as he was spun forward, back to the other man’s chest, hands roaming over his hips and chest as he stepped forward.

 _“I mean I could but why would I want to?”_ the beat dropped and Angel with it, crouching down again, spinning sideways on his heels as the man approached, taking hold of his upper hands and spinning him over his arm in a cartwheel, Angel’s lower arms gripping him for support.

“ _Can’t keep my hands to myself. My-my-my hands to myself_ ,” Angel was pulled flush again, train whirling around their feet as they twirled and kicked around each other, at one point being lifted off his feet again, a leg curved backwards around his assistant’s hip. _“I want it all, no nothing else.”_ Angel was being lifted off his feet, lower arm draped over the man’s shoulder and behind his neck, upper arms raised back as he leaned into the spin, falling back into a dip before being spun forward again. _“Give me your all and nothing else.”_

An arm encircled his waist again, lifting him off the ground and bending him back towards the floor, the ends of his hair brushing the stage as a long leg stretched out, arms splayed behind him and back arched provocatively. _“Can’t keep my hands to myself.”_

The lights dropped and there was a long pause of silence before the audience erupted into applause. Charlie came racing onto the stage as the lights went back up, Angel Dust and his assistant giving a bow – or in Angel Dust’s case a cheeky curtsy – as Charlie gushed to them. Angel cleared his throat and gestured to the audience, forcing Charlie’s attention back to her job as they slipped off stage.

Alastor let a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and released the death grip he’d had on his glass.

Entertaining indeed.

\--

“Told you broads I could be classy,” Angel Dust beamed, arms prim on his hips and crossed under his fluff as Charlie gushed and squealed, Vaggie beside her looking… well beside herself. Alastor spun his microphone stand as he approached, hoping to look far more casual than he felt.

“Where did you even learn to dance like that?” Vaggie asked, looking as if her entire world view had been upended. “You can _sing_!?”

“Honey, I was an Italian in the Bronx, if you don’t think my ma had me in church choir every Sunday you’re foolin yourself.” Angel grinned, gold tooth gleaming. “This little alter boy tempted many a man to sin, I’ll have you know!” His skirts whispered against one another as his hips cocked.

Charlie leaned closer, if possible. “And the dancing? You can dance so well!”

“My ma liked to dance and pops didn’t,” Angel shrugged as if he were commenting on the weather and not the fact that he had just performed a flawless tango _while singing_ to the obvious surprise of everyone who knew him. “If you really wanna be impressed, you should see my waltz.”

Alastor choked on his breath, finally drawing attention towards himself. He straightened his posture, resisting the urge to adjust his hair, “Quite impressive, my good fellow, didn’t know you had it in you!”

Angel looked at him for a long moment before shrugging, “Yeah, well… lots about me you guys don’t know. Y’never asked.” There was an awkward silence at that as Charlie rubbed the back of her neck and both her and Vaggie averted their gazes.

“Well, uh… how about your friend? Who is he?”

“Steve? He’s some schmuck from down at the studio. He was a dance instructor when he was still alive, Val has him do choreography for some of the strip joints he owns. It’s hard to find people interested in this shit down here, took what I could get.” He folded his arms again, primly turning away from the other man. “You can leave now, I’ll call you next time I feel like looking at you.”

Steve laughed, patting Angel on the shoulder as he walked by. “Of course, _dear heart_. I’ll let _Daddy_ know to expect your call, as well.”

Alastor gripped his microphone stand harder, gaze focused on that hand on Angel Dust’s shoulder, relaxing only slightly when the other man left his sight.

“Ugh, I’m fucking _done_ ,” Angel sighed, one set of arms stretched above his head and his second stretched behind him, unintentionally shoving his chest fluff further forward. “Haven’t been this tight laced in ages. I’m callin’ it, unless you broads plan on moving the party to the bar?”

Charlie pouted, “Angel, you were supposed to be cutting back on the drinking…”

Angel made a face and sighed, “Yeah, yeah… good boy behavior,” he folded his hands and sarcastically rolled his eyes heavenwards. “Like a saint, all that jazz. Alright, Toots, it’s been a blast. Good show, proud out of, etcetera…” he gave a half hearted wave and sashayed past, the bulk of his skirt brushing up against Alastor unintentionally as he slipped past.

“You think you know a guy,” Vaggie mused , shaking her head.

“Indeed.” Alastor agreed.


	2. Let's Sing a Song of Cheer Again

Alastor managed to wait two days before approaching the other man. He found Angel Dust in the old lounge area, wrapped up in a plush, oversized sweater, sprawled out on the sofa with a magazine in his hands. The rest of the lounge was empty – most patrons having vacated for the newer, nicely renovated one - save for the roaring fireplace and Fat Nuggets rooting around the rug.

The piglet trotted up to him, snorting and snuffling around his feet.

“Delightful creatures, aren’t they?” Alastor mused, looking down at the piglet with an edge to his smile, Fat Nuggets nosed at the cuff of his trousers before circling around him and continuing to snuff at the rug. “They’ll eat anything if you let them.”

“Pops had a farmer friend we’d let take care of… complaints. Get enough pigs in a pen and those messes disappear real quick,” Angel agreed, looking over his magazine. After a minute, he smirked, “You got a mess you need cleaned up, Smiles?”

“Oh, heavens no. I clean up my own messes, you’ll find,” Alastor’s grin turned a bit feral. “Won’t be anything left for this little miscreant when I’ve finished.”

Angel Dust laughed at that and Fat Nuggets ran over, flopping onto his side in front of the sofa. “So what brings you down here and out of your office?”

Alastor folded his hands behind his back, “Am I not allowed to want to converse with one of our esteemed guest?”

“S’pose not, but I don’t usually inspire much conversation in you,” Angel Dust turned back to his magazine, idly turning a page.

“We’ve been at this hotel together a fair while now, and it occurred to me that I don’t know much about you. Not too often we get a chance to chat, thought we could rectify that.”

Angel Dust paused mid page flip but didn’t look up. He shifted a bit, sinking deeper into his sweater, shoulders bunching a bit as he finished turning his page. “Yeah, well… what d’ya want to know? I’m an open book.”

“You mentioned your father handling _messes_. I assume that's innuendo? I believe Charlie mentioned your family had ties to the mafia in your lifetime."

"Yeah, Pops was head of the Ragno family. Big disappointment to him when one of his sons turned out to be a poof." Angel Dust let out a small laugh. "He still sent me on hits when he needed to, but I was usually sent in for clean up with my brother... and not the kind Nifty'd like to hear about."

Alastor was intrigued. "And was your farmer friend your main tool?"

"Not always," Angel Dust mused. "Really depended on the situation - how many guys, time of year... we'd throw guys in the river with weights tied on, chop em up and fill the tub up with acid... One time we buried a guy in a corn field cause I'd read it'd decompose faster... Arry didn't believe me, but whatever, I killed the guy so I got to pick where the body went." He said it as if he were commenting on selecting a picture show to see. "Why, you thinkin' of branchin' out?"

"Oh, not at all. Simply curious how others handled their affairs - so many different ways to hide such indiscretions! Why we could list them for hours!"

Angel Dust laughed a bit, "Yeah, bet we could." They fell into a silence for a moment and Alastor cleared his throat.

"It’s surprising to me that I’ve never once heard you sing before the other night. With how boisterous you tend to be, it was quite a surprise to hear you can make other noises than those picture shows you’re known for.”

Angel Dust finally looked up from his magazine, brow knit. “Yeah, well, most Johns don’t really care what comes out of my mouth other than,” he arched a little bit, back of a hand to his forehead, “ _harder, daddy_.” He melted back into the cushions, “So… yeah, not really something that comes up too much.”

Alastor cleared his throat, bringing his hands forward and folding them primly over the head of his microphone stand. “Yes. Well. Seems a shame to let such talent go to waste.”

“You think I got talent?”

“If the performance you put on was any telling, you’ve got the makings of a real entertainer! I, for one, would love to hear you sing more often!”

There was a long pause as Alastor realized what he had just said. His eyes widened but his smile stayed firm, he’d hoped to be more subtle bringing up the request. Now he just had to hope Angel Dust didn’t prod too much into it.

Of course, Angel Dust never did what he wanted. “You would?” He shifted awkwardly, turning somewhat towards the back of the sofa, almost defensively, “I dunno, no one’s ever asked me to sing for them before. I usually just do it when I’m by myself… Val tells me I have better things for my mouth t’be doing if there’s people around.”

Alastor’s eye twitched and he hummed, a sharp static surrounding him as he lifted his microphone stand and approached an empty wing back chair by the fireside. With a swish of his wrist it was turned, back facing Angel Dust as he settled into it. “Well then, simply pretend that I’m not around.”

He could hear Angel Dust sitting up in surprise, the soft surruss of cloth against the couch cushions and the crunch of his magazine as the other demon shifted around. In the silence with the crackling fire and Fat Nugget's muffled snuffling, his ears pricked for any sound and he could pick out the tell tale noise of Angel Dust licking his lips and rubbing his palms against his thighs.

After several minutes, Alastor suspected the other man might just leave and he'd have to rethink his plan, but just as the thought crossed his mind Angel Dust’s soft voice could be heard, tentatively over the space between them.

“ _Happy days… are here again.”_ A pause and a swallow. “ _The skies… above are clear again…”_

Alastor felt his pulse jump, going back to his days at the radio tower when this voice would keep him company through long silent evenings. With each word, Angel’s voice was growing more confident and ever closer to that robust tonality he was so craving. The Radio Demon let his eyes close and the unfiltered sound wash over him, an almost physical blanket relaxing him into the chair.

“ _So let’s tell the world about it now… happy days are here again…”_

\--

It became a routine. Every few days, when Angel Dust wasn’t called to the studio or out on another one his… “jobs” at Valentino’s request, he and Alastor would end up in the lounge together and the door would find itself locked to outsiders. Alastor would place himself in the wingback chair facing the fire and Angel would sing for him, often acoustic but sometimes backed by the tiny speakers of his hell phone depending on the songs.

Alastor never commented or made his presence overt, simply enjoying the dulcet tones as they filled the space. It was perplexing, the sheer variety of music Angel Dust pulled from his seemingly bottomless repertoire.

At first, he sang quite a few popular tunes from when they had both been alive – late twenties and early thirties hits that brought a nostalgic tilt to Alastor’s ever present smile, almost as if trying to cater to the Radio Demon, but soon it seemed that Angel Dust forgot his presence or just stopped caring and would simply sing whatever came to him, whatever his mood that day brought out of him.

It was like a window into the exuberant man’s soul. On the outside, Angel Dust would be cracking jokes and making sassy remarks to anyone who might dare to question his mood being anything less than jovial, but tucked into this room, he might croon out a wistful rendition of _Black Bird_ or _One Day I’ll Fly Away_ after returning from an especially long stint under Valentino’s whims. On other days he would perform one man shows of different musicals and Broadway performances – one eventful evening he had made his way through the entirety of _The King and I_ while giving himself and Fat Nuggets full manicures.

Then there were the times Alastor knew Angel Dust was in an exceptionally good mood – all the songs he would sing would have a _bounce_ to them. Sometimes enough of a bounce that Alastor could hear the tell tale click of Angel Dust’s heels as he danced around the room or the way his vocals warbled with his laughter.

It was enough to soften Alastor’s smile as he raised his glass of bourbon to his lips.

“ _I wanna play where you play with the angels, I wanna wake up with you oh all in tangles now, I wanna cut to the feeling…”_

\--

“Hey, Al, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Alastor paused, head tilting in acquiescence as he glanced over Angel Dust. The other man had a confident air to him, but after weeks of listening to him he could sense the hesitance in his voice. With a few blinks, his smile widened. “But of course, my good man, whatever about?”

Angel Dust cleared his throat, turning to walk down the hallway and away from the crowded lobby. Falling into pace alongside him, Alastor noted they were heading towards the lounge and, knowing they had just been there last night, wondered if the other man was just eager to perform again.

After entering the room and closing the door behind them, Angel Dust folded his arms over his chest fluff. “You should dance with me.”

There was the sound of radio feedback. After a long beat of silence, Alastor forced a laugh. “I’m sorry, I believe I didn’t hear you correctly.”

Angel Dust scowled. “I’ve been coming in here and singing for you because, for some weird ass reason, you seem to enjoy it. Figured I might as well ask to get something out of it on my end. You danced with Princess when you first showed up so I know you can do it and besides not wanting to go to the studio _anyway_ , Steve's being a fucking creep so I don’t have a partner to practice with.”

Alastor stared at him, static seeming to filter into the air around them. “This isn’t one of your attempts at sexual harassment, is it?”

“What? No, I’m being serious.” Angel Dust looked him up and down,” I mean, unless you’re into that shit, Smiles.”

There was another screech of radio feedback and Angel Dust laughed.

“Seriously, I just want a dance partner. Someone who won’t be whispering stuff back t’Val or getting’ too handsy. We can still do Angel Dust’s Sing-a-long theater,” he gave a jazz hands motion, “because you seem to be into _that_ at least, but as a trade off I’d want to do a dance session at least once a week.”

Alastor hummed, “And you’ve selected me for what reason?”

“Besides the fact that you’re super hot?” Alastor bristled and Angel laughed again. “Only other person interested in dancing in the whole place is Charlie and not only am I like… three feet taller than her, she’d want me to lead an, eh,” he shrugged, “not my bag. I prefer the following role when dancing and you,” he gestured towards him, “peg me as the type that likes to take charge.”

There was another moment of silence and Angel Dust screwed his face up.

“Innuendo not intended. For once.” He crossed his arms again, cocking his hips and resting his lower pair onto the crook of his spine. “So what d’ya say?

Alastor rested his hands, folded primly, on the top of his microphone stand. His eyes ran over the other man, able to pick up the subtle ticks of insecurity – the slight hitch to his shoulders, the way he tapped his toes in a slow rhythm. “And should I refuse?”

Angel huffed, “Well, I ain’t gonna stop singing for you if that’s what you think. I’m not in the business of makin’ other guys do stuff they don’t really wanna or punishin’ em for not doing what I want ‘em to do. I may be a flirt and come on a bit strong, but I ain’t a complete dirtbag, I know what no means.”

Alastor thought back to the talent show, when Angel Dust had proclaimed his ability to waltz and felt a thrill course through him as it had done that evening. It had been _ages_ since he'd waltzed...

He forced his expression and tone to stay relaxed. “Well in that case, I see no reason to decline your request. On certain… conditions, of course.”

“Wait, really?”

Alastor grinned his usual toothy grin. “But of course. As you said, there’s few who are suited to such activity and as I already find myself enjoying your company with music present, I’m sure we can come to some accord here.” He tapped his microphone stand on the ground to emphasize his point. “However, as I said, I do believe ground rules will suit us well.”

Angel Dust still seemed skeptical. “Alright, lay em out.”

“As we’ve discussed, I am not fond of my personal space being invaded.”

“Yeah, but we can’t really do a five foot rule dance.”

A hum, “Of course. I would request that you keep your gloves on, as well as yourself covered up in more modest attire.” He gestured to Angel Dust’s suit jacket and boots. “Your usual is suitable enough, I suppose, so I would ask that you not show up wearing any less than that. None of those silly half shirts of yours.” Angel Dust shrugged, easy enough. “Also I will choose which dance we do, I’m sure you have enough music in your eclectic library to suit any sort of routine we perform, but it will be my decision what style.”

Angel Dust hummed. “Fair enough, but on the flip side, no avoiding things like the tango just because they tend to be touchier – I want to be able to practice as much different types as I can.”

Alastor’s lip curled slightly, “Acceptable, however we will stick to more standard dance forms – none of this… hip hop and” he grimaced, “ _twerking_ nonsense that seems to be so popular nowadays.” He tapped his microphone stand on the floor again. “Finally, it should go without saying but this sort of thing will remain between the two of us. Understood?”

“I ain’t making an official deal with you so keep the green light off… but yeah, figured you might say something like that. Nobody else’ll find out.”

“Wonderful.” Alastor twirled his microphone stand out of existence. “Obviously you know the tango, but what other dances are you familiar with?”

Angel Dust beamed, quickly starting up a song playlist and accepting Alastor’s gloved hand in his own, sliding into an awkward frame with the other man. They adjusted their hands several times, Angel Dust shifting his feet to find a better start point and folding his second set of arms out of the way. “The waltz, both normal and Viennese,” he proclaimed proudly, “the foxtrot was one’a my ma’s favorites… and I’ve dabbled in the quick step when I can find someone able to keep up with me.”

Alastor’s grin widened as the first song faded and the sound of drums and trumpets began to pulse out of Angel Dust’s phone. Louis Prima's _Sing Sing Sing_ \- a little after his time, but a solid choice.

“Well, you’re quite in luck – the quick step is my specialty.”


	3. Birds Singing in the Sycamore Tree

Alastor was not surprised often. He’d been in hell for close to century at this point, and while he didn’t keep too adapted to newer technology, he found that people never changed. It was fairly easy to look at a denizen of hell and know enough about them to meet his needs – and there had been very few that had undermined that initial judgment.

“Okay, but what if we added a spin out to the end of that combination? It’d make it easier to switch into the next set of footwork you’re so dead set on trippin’ me with.”

Angel Dust had thrown his initial judgment out of the window and managed a bulls eye with his tommy gun in mid air, and Alastor was still trying to fit those mangled puzzle pieces back into some form of image to wrap his head around.

The other man was bawdy, he was lewd, he was provocative.

But he was also quite intelligent, he was kind, he was _funny_. He was graceful with his movements and his stamina kept him moving despite the often grueling paces Alastor put him through. They’d had a rough start of things at first, both not sure where to meet each other – Angel Dust pushing too far and Alastor pulled too far back, but easily found a middle ground that led to a fluidity Alastor never expected of the other man.

They had quickly found a system – when Angel Dust arrived to the lounge he would look for the wingback chair. If it was facing the fire, then he knew Alastor was not going to dance with him that evening and simply wanted him to sing – but if the chair was turned towards the middle of the room then Angel would wait for Alastor to approach and fall into step.

And while the other man would follow, he wouldn’t do so mindlessly.

“That seems needlessly complicated,” the Radio Demon eyed him as they parted for a moment, rolling his shirt sleeves up. He’d lost his jacket a few songs previous as the room had heated up and noticed that Angel Dust seemed quite intent on his forearms as they were bared for some reason. “You struggle enough matching up when we spin more than three times at it is.”

Angel Dust finally looked up when Alastor reached for him, pulling them back into frame. He could feel the silk of Angel Dust’s glove brush against the bare skin of his forearm before clasping his own gloved hand around his fingers and resisted the urge to shiver at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Yeah, but I keep banging my junk right into you with this step and you obviously ain’t into it.” Angel Dust rocked his hip to the side for emphasis. “At least with a break in the spin, I can keep the grinding to the minimum.” At Alastor’s hesitation, Angel Dust grinned, “I mean, unless you want that? Been keepin’ my distance for your comfort, but it’s a whole lot easier doin’ this up close and personal.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Alastor cleared his throat, stepping out with the next beat and pulling Angel into a bouncing combination. “You’ve been keeping up just fine, no reason to make it easy on you.”

Angel Dust laughed, not missing a step, even as Alastor switched direction unprompted, “Doing everything you are and in heels, t’boot.” As the step combination moved forward, Angel Dust let himself be spun, falling back into the next step with a greater ease and keeping a respectable distance between their pelvises – and while he grinned he didn’t comment on Alastor’s change to the choreography.

And Alastor didn’t comment on him not commenting.

\--

It had been almost two weeks since Angel Dust was able to drop into the lounge, called every which way by Valentino. Alastor had barely glimpsed the other man for more than brief moments as he made his way in and out of the hotel. He’d stop long enough for Charlie to search him for contraband as he strut in at sunrise – looking over him for bruises and other signs of abuse as opposed to actively trying to find anything being snuck into the hotel - only to sleep a few hours and head back out freshly done up and dressed for whatever “client” or appearance Valentino had scheduled him for.

Most recently he had been gone for almost three days, sleeping at the studio on Valentino’s orders based on a text he had sent Charlie.

Of course their lovely proprietor was concerned for her main client and what sort of financier would Alastor be if he didn’t heed her call to check in on him? It certainly wasn’t because he was worried, or because he found himself restless without their meetings.

Of course not.

It was rather easy to track Angel Dust down. Subtlety wasn’t one of the other man’s strong suits and it was only a matter of time before he would find himself in some sort of trouble – all Alastor had to do was listen for the sounds of impropriety and follow them to the seedier part of the Pentagram and a dingy dive bar.

The din of pained grunting and shouting easily drew his attention and Alastor stood off to the side watching as Angel Dust and his little cyclops friend – Cherri was it? – took on a small crowd of brutish demons outside the bar. He would step in if needed, but they seemed to have it neatly in hand. If Charlie asked, he had simply arrived far too late to stop the carnage.

“Damnit, bitch, I love it when you know what kinda action I’m lookin’ for after a rough week!” Angel crowed, brandishing his bat and taking a firm swing towards an approaching imp, enjoying the crunch of his nose and orbital cavity on impact.

“No shit, you looked run down as fuck!” Cherri deftly flipped over an attacker before kicking them in the spine, sending them straight into Angel’s bat. He whooped, giving another wild spin and taking in a sharp inhale at the solid crack of his opponent’s skull, eyes alighting. “You won’t do any blow and barely took any shots with me, it’s like you’re really becoming a goody two shoes.”

Angel felt the warm splatter of blood on his cheek and his grin turned wild as he readjusted his grip. “Oh you wish, you dumb slut. Just because some of us like to pace ourselves…” he took another swing, shattering a kneecap to a pained howl.

Cherri was pummeling one of the thugs, driving a knee into his solar plexus before delivering a solid right hook. Angel barked out a laugh as a tooth went flying. “What’ve you been up to the last coupla weeks? You barely answer my texts anymore!”

“Ugh, Val has me on a short leash. Between performin’ at his clubs he had me runnin’ all over the damn city for any two-bit stiff lookin’ for a good time.” Angel shrugged, raising his bat over his head and smashing the beaten thug’s skull like a pumpkin. Viscera splattered onto him, Angel huffed as Cherri lifted an arm to shield her face from the most of it. “The weird ones, too, real kinky fucks. Had to reset two of my shoulders last night ‘cause they got yanked out so hard. And that was _after_ a two hour shoot and a shift up in the silks!” He snorted derisively. “Somethin’ about _wavering loyalty_ and _doubting my commitment_ , like the fucker doesn’t have my contract sitting in his damn safe. I’m lucky he didn’t have the boys rough me up more than he did, but I guess he didn’t want to bruise the merchandise.” He twirled his bat like a baton, blood and bone fragments spinning off the surface as he rested it on his shoulder.

“Won’t your guy be mad if you come home like that? Thought that dumb hotel was all about good morals and _being hayve_ and all that bullshit.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, my dear, as far as I’ve seen he’s been perfectly behaved,” Alastor said as he finally approached. Angel Dust cocked his hip and tilted his head, brow knit at the other man’s approach, and oh, what a pretty picture he made. His hair was wild, falling into his face and splattered with viscera, blood dripping down his cheek and staining his jacket. The soaked bat dripped, permeating the fabric of his gloves and leaving a large stain on his shoulder, and the look in his eyes and smile were positively _feral_.

“You babysittin’ me, Al? Didn’t know you liked to watch.” He gave a lurid little wiggle as he tossed his hair, smirking at him as Cherri laughed. Alastor tilted his head slightly, acknowledging the flirt as he set his microphone stand down, leaning on it.

“Our dear friend Charlie asked me to check in on you as you disappeared in such a hurry and we hadn’t heard from you,” he explained. “Can’t be having any negative press for the hotel, you see.”

Angel Dust peered at him before giving his bloody bat a shake, a wayward drop of blood hitting his cheek. Alastor felt his pulse jump at the sight and cleared his throat, reaching for his handkerchief.

“Coming to a… young lady’s aid is quite noble, you’ll find.” Alastor smiled serenely. “If we spin it the right way. However, I do believe it is time to return you to the hotel,” he held the square of silk out to Angel, watching as the other man dabbed at his face, missing much of the blood at his hairline and under his jaw. Alastor felt his mouth water.

“Boo, you whore,” Cherri gave Angel an elbow with a saucy grin. “I’ll hit you up later if the party kicks off, alright?”

Angel Dust grinned, holding out a fist for Cherri to bump hers against his before pulling the bloody demoness into a tight hug. “Be gay, do crimes, alright?”

“All day, all night!” she crowed, giving Alastor a thumbs up. She gave one of the corpses around them a firm kick to the torso before making her way down the street. Angel Dust and Alastor watched her departure until she turned a corner and, with a nod, Alastor gestured for Angel Dust to lead the way back towards the hotel.

“I don’t have to conduct a search, now do I?”

Huffing, Angel Dust rolled his eyes, “No. And do you know how hard it is to do all the shit Val wants with only alcohol in me?” He paused before giggling, “Well, not only alcohol… but like, no drugs. Damn near impossible! Guess I’m glad I don’t have to go through withdrawals again, though…”

Alastor chose not to comment.

“I am so run down. I’m gonna take the _longest_ bath in history when we get back,” Angel sighed, running fingers through his hair and grimacing at the grime and gunk catching with each pull through. “It’ll take forever to get all this shit out.”

Alastor felt a bit disappointed, “Then I suppose I won’t see you this evening?”

Angel Dust’s hand paused halfway through an especially gory section of his bangs, peering at him for a moment curiously. His eyes lit up and he smiled – not a smirk or a grin, but an actual smile – “Not necessarily.”

They made their way back to the hotel in a pleasant sort of silence, and with a tilt of the head Angel Dust led him up the stairs to his room. Alastor hesitated at the doorway, but with a moment to brace himself, entered.

He was pleasantly surprised to not find sex paraphernalia sprawled on every available surface in the room as he had expected. While the hotel was comprised of suites and suites only, it seemed that Angel Dust had been very particular about the set up of his current abode – most likely because he had been the first patron and Charlie had been more eager to please in efforts to make him stay. The entryway to the suite had most of the furniture removed and, most obviously, a large pole installed in the center. There was an almost oversized vanity mirror set up in the corner with a plush, pink ottoman seat, the table covered in assorted tubes and bottles and other cosmetics, and Alastor could see piles of clothing strewn about – outfits he recognized Angel Dust slipping in and out of the hotel wearing over the last few weeks.

He could barely see through the bedroom doorway from where he stood and raised a brow at the veritable mountain of throw pillows piled atop a soft looking duvet. Fat Nuggets was curled up amongst the down and fluff, glancing up at their entry and making soft, snuffling sounds.

“ _Ah mio patatino! Mio polpetto amore, sei tu. Si, si, sei tu!_ ” Angel Dust cooed at him, passing by and towards a large bureau, shuffling through out of sight.

Alastor stood, appraising the space that he had assumed would have been much more chaotic than it was. Instead, while cluttered, with the random articles of clothing in some corners, and a half finished glass of wine resting on the vanity, it was quite tidy. As he waited, he could hear Angel humming and puttering around, muttering to himself in a mix of Italian and English, disappearing into the ensuite bathroom and starting up the tub. His voice echoed on the tiles but sounded muddled out in the entryway and, without thinking, Alastor moved towards the bedroom.

“So, you got two options,” Angel Dust called, face popping around the corner as Alastor reached the bedroom doorway. “You can sit out there, or I can bring a chair in here so you can hear better.”

Alastor eyed the frosted glass of the bathroom door and noted that you couldn’t see the bath tub from this angle. He considered sitting out in the main room, but the idea of Angel Dust’s voice being so muddled… “Here should be quite alright.”

Half an hour later found Alastor leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door, perched primly on the surprisingly soft ottoman with Fat Nuggets resting at his feet and Angel Dust submerged in fragrant, bubbly water, singing as he combed through his fur.

It was one of the most relaxing evenings he’d had in quite some time.

“ _While I’m alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the lovely comments! I haven't written fic in a long while but Radiodust just seems to work for me and I love all the tropes we've all shoved into this ship - expect a few more to pop up in future chapters!
> 
> A few people have commented about drawing scenes and PLEASE DO and send them to me!! I would adore seeing some of this in art form!!


	4. Not Like You, You Shine So Bright

Angel Dust had experienced damn near every kink under the sun. It was hard not to as a hooker. Some of them were normal, like guys wanting to choke him or tie him up or pee on him or whatever other shit got their rocks off. Angel Dust figured as long as they were willing to pay, he could indulge even if some of them forced him to fake it more than others. Except feet. Feet guys were a weird he didn’t like to fuck with.

He didn’t have much of a kink list for himself. Hard for anything to stick out when you could really force yourself to pop a boner over any request as needed. He once managed to get it up for a sliced orange once, just to prove that he could. Sure, he liked his sex rough, and dirty talk was always a turn on, but there were few… mundane thing that really got his motor revving outside of the bedroom.

“Nah, nah, like dis, cher.”

Except for maybe that.

It had slipped out on accident one evening, Alastor relaxed after a few glasses of bourbon, attempting to coordinate Angel’s equally tipsy feet into something vaguely resembling the Fox Trot, the smooth syllables of Cajun tinted French passing through Alastor’s lips like water.

Angel had tripped over himself in surprise, twirling them in his attempt to regain his balance. “What was that?”

Alastor had stared at him wide eyed, his formal Trans Atlantic radio host voice forced back into place. “Don’t know what you mean, my dear.”

“No. No, go back. Do it again.” Angel shook Alastor’s arm where he gripped his shoulder. “Is that what you normally sound like?”

A huff and Alastor averted his gaze for a moment. “I’m from the bayou, cher, ‘course dis is what I norm'ly sound like.”

Angel stared at him, pupils visibly dilating as a flush creeped up his cheeks and down his chest fluff, tinting him pink. “Fuck that’s hot.”

Alastor stared at him in surprise before grinning. “ _C’est juste Français. Je pensais que tu voulais danser avec moi c’est soir?”_

Angel pushed away, all four hands coming to cover his flaming face. “Nope. Nope. Not sober or drunk enough for this kinda why boner. Nuh uh, not allowed.”

“What’cha mean, cher?”

Letting out a whining noise, Angel stalked out the door, grabbing the half empty bottle of wine on his way, turning back to point an accusing finger at him with a radiant flush to his face. “Fuck your whole entire face!”

Alastor’s laughter had followed him as he fled up the stairs to his room.

And here he was again. “Non, cher, left _then_ right.”

“I can’t concentrate when you talk like that,” Angel whined, staring down at his feet as Alastor reset their position, able to feel his face heating up again, sure his chest fluff must be pinking. He felt the other man chuckle as his grip on his shoulder adjusted and pouted. “You know exactly what you’re doing!”

“Oui, cher, we’re dancing. Well,” Alastor smirked, tilting his head, “we’re trying to.”

Angel’s pout became more pronounced. “I can’t be held responsible for how I react when I’ve told you what talking like that does to me.” Alastor laughed again, pulling Angel into a spin before falling back into their more standard footwork.

After the song faded away and a new one started, Angel cleared his throat.

“So, Al… what’s your deal?”

“My ‘ _deal’?_ ” Alastor echoed and Angel could almost feel the air quotes.

“You let me flirt with you, but you hate people touching ya. Any time sex or anything like that comes up, you bristle up like an alleycat but you got no problem yanking me around like this, or... talkin' to me like that, so it can’t be like… a masculinity thing,” Angel Dust seemed genuinely confused. “So, like… what gives?”

He resisted the urge to sigh, “You really wanna know?”

“Well, yeah.” Angel Dust looked away before grinning and batting his eyelashes at him, “Not every day a guy can resist my charms, y’know.”

Alastor could hear the joke behind the words and huffed. “If you must know… I simply have no interest in that sort of thing, never have.” He shrugged a bit. “Not even when I was alive.”

“Does… does your junk not work or something?”

“It works fine.” Alastor bristled a bit. “Just… not the way everyone else’s seems to. I can enjoy someone’s company without needing to… enjoy their company, if y’catch my drift.”

Angel Dust hummed, looking thoughtful as they continued to dance. The song finished and they paused for a moment, “Well I feel like a fuckin’ idiot chasing after you like an able Grable.”

“You have been… aggressive in the past, yes.”

Sighing, Angel Dust crossed his arms over his chest thoughtfully, “Well, now I know.” He nodded firmly, “Sorry about that, though.”

Alastor stared at him, waiting for another comment or question. When it didn’t come he felt his smile falter slightly, “You don’t think I’m weird or broken?”

“Huh? Why?” he looked him up and down. “I mean, you eat people, that’s kinda weird… still liked that boudin stuff you made the other day for dinner, though.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Al. Smiles.” He unfolded his arms to rest his hands on Alastor’s shoulders. “You’re not broken, just… wired different. Nothin’ wrong with that.” He gave his shoulders a firm squeeze before taking up their frame again. “I’m still gonna flirt with you, though, cause you’re super hot and you got that damn fine accent, I’ll just tone it down to an Al-friendly level.”

Alastor barked out a laugh at that, almost bending at the waist. “You never fail to surprise me, cher. “

Angel Dust wriggled a bit, looking uncomfortable, “Yeah, well, that’s me. Full of surprises.”

Taking a step back and leading them in a seamless Viennese Waltz, Alastor beamed. “You have no idea.”

\--

Alastor sat primly on the edge of a chair, watching as Angel Dust peered at his reflection in his vanity, artfully applying layer upon layer of make up. The spider had been called upon, yet again, by Valentino, and instead of immediately cancelling their evening, Angel Dust had simply invited him up to his room while he got ready.

“ _He’s a wolf in disguise, but I can’t stop staring in those evil eyes,_ ” he applied a layer of mascara, batting his eyelashes as he raised his chin, humming as he looked over his appearance from several angles. " _Might've fucked not really sure, don't quite recall... but something tells me that I've seen him round before..."_ he brushed the back of a finger over his forehead before picking up another brush and applying highlighter to his cheeks.

“Could you explain something to me?”

Angel Dust paused mid swipe, “All the brushes do different stuff, that’s why there’s so many.”

Alastor gave him an unimpressed look, “Yes, I observed the six you used on just your eyes.“ Angel Dust smirked, brushing another layer onto his cheek before picking up an eyeliner pencil and leaning closer to his reflection to apply it. “It has to do with your… chosen profession, you could say.”

“Which one? Fuckin’ for money, or fuckin’ for money on film?”

“Must you be so crass?”

Laughing, Angel Dust turned to face him, his sheer, pink fur lined robe he had on over his outfit fluttering around him. “What d’ya wanna know?”

“What drew you to it?”

“Besides enjoying it?” Angel Dust smirked and at Alastor’s silence sighed. “Look. I did some real shitty things when I was alive, but if you ask me? The main reason I’m down here instead of being part of the choir eternal is because I’m a guy who likes guys. Those years between our deaths didn’t really do much in the way for poofs… Everyone tellin’ ya there’s something wrong… sending y'to doctors and “specialists” for “therapy”, he made air quotes with one hand, another idly primping the lashes of his darker eye, “well… drugs and alcohol helped most nights, and when pops stops sending you money, you find a way to get it. Not too hard to let a rando or two at you when it gets you enough snow to keep you up and out of it for three days in exchange.”

Alastor remained silent, waiting for Angel Dust to continue. The other man hesitated for a moment before turning back to his reflection and puttering with some of the tubes and creams on the vanity, mindlessly twirling a tube of lipstick between his fingers.

“When I got down here… I dunno, I didn’t have any transferrable skills? Sure, I knew the family business enough, but I never really went all in with it... I’d spent the last few years too blasted to know what day it was, wasn’t exactly about to become an overlord… I could kill people, but so could most of the guys down here. Not too strong… but I’m pretty. Val found me and offered me a job doing something I was good at and, I dunno… people liked it? My flicks were popular, people suddenly knew who I was and I felt useful. Needed. It was nice. Sometimes I didn’t even need to be completely blottoed to do it, it was just… nice that someone wanted me around.”

“And now that you’ve stopped the drugs?”

Angel Dust laughed weakly, “Little harder, I guess. Used to be a tab of ecstasy and a bump could keep me going for a full day of filming and right into the clubs all night, now I just sorta… power through with some liquor and sleep as soon as we finish. I still get off in the end, sex is sex and I do enjoy it most of the time...” He rested his cheek in his hand, looking almost through his own reflection. “I think… it’s harder now that I can remember all of it, when I used to just wake up alone with a pocket full of cash and not have to really think of where it came from.”

His phone vibrated and he glanced at it, cursing and rising to his feet, letting his robe fall and revealing his outfit for the evening – a low cut, low backed shirt that showed off his chest fluff paired with a tight mini skirt and his trademark thigh high boots. Titillating to most, Alastor assumed, but to him the other man seemed out of place without his stripes. “Leaving so soon?”

“Val doesn’t really like to be kept waiting,” Angel Dust shot off a quick text and pocketed his phone. “Look, Al, I’m sorry this got cut short, I’ll make it up to you next time, alright? Sing anything you want, promise.”

Alastor stared up at the other man for a long moment before tilting his head and rising to his feet. “Of course, my dear, you come to me whenever you have a moment and I’ll surely be in need of your services.”

\--

“The fuck is an etoufay?”

“It’s pronounced _etouffe,”_ Alastor corrected, checking the color of his roux. “It’s shellfish’n’rice.”

Angel Dust huffed as he chopped the vegetables Alastor had set out for him. “So just call it that.”

Alastor hummed, “And what was it you made last week? With th’rice and th’veal?”

“ _Osso buco?_ That shit’s delicious, don’t tell me you didn’t like it.”

“Why not just call it veal’n’rice?”

Angel Dust scowled, grumbling to himself as he finished dicing. “What should I do next? You sure you don’t need any carrots?”

“For a trinity? This ain’t Rome, cher, don’t be changing the trinity.” Alastor gave the roux another stir, happy with the color and began stirring in the vegetables. “You can welcome y’self to a drink while I show you what real cookin’ is,” he waved him off with his spoon and Angel Dust was sure it would’ve been a very imposing image if the other man wasn’t wearing Charlie’s bright pink, ruffled apron over his shirt sleeves and waist coat.

Their mutual love of cooking had come up one evening when Angel Dust had proclaimed a particular craving for handmade pasta, bemoaning that nobody made it the old fashioned way anymore and that Charlie had offered him dried boxed pasta. “Like I’m some sort of peasant, Al! She has no standards! Boxed pasta… stab me in the heart, why don’tcha…”

Alastor had nodded his head in agreement, recalling his own request for Beignets only for powdered doughnuts to be presented to him. “Sometimes, you simply need to take matters into your own hands.”

The next day, Angel Dust had proudly offered a large plate of ravioli, tossed in a rich tomato sauce and dusted with a generous amount of freshly grated cheese. Alastor was surprised that the other man had listened to him, and even more surprised to find the food absolutely _delicious_.

And that simply would not do.

Alastor had commandeered the kitchen a few nights later, placing a large bowl of gumbo in front of the spider. And just like that, a challenge had been set.

It had been a few weeks and now interspersed between evenings in the lounge were evenings in Nifty’s kitchen, trading recipes and stories of their previous lives and their time in hell before the hotel. When one was cooking, the other would step in to assist with prep work and Alastor found himself impressed with Angel Dust’s knife skills and how useful his extra hands were when it came to managing multiple tasks at once – it made clean up a breeze.

The fact that the other man would often find himself singing while he worked was certainly another perk.

“ _I was wonderin if you and me could spend a minute, on the floor up and close getting lost in it. I won’t give up without a fight…_ ”

Angel Dust had gathered all the utensils and dishes used in the prep work and had filled the large basin sink with hot, sudsy water. Each set of hands was working diligently to clean and dry as his hips swayed from side to side and as Alastor stirred stock into the pot in front of him he noted how domestic the scene was.

And he was surprisingly okay with it.

It had been decades, close to a century, and long before he’d died himself that he’d experienced such domesticity. His mother dutifully preparing dinner for him and his father, the radio filtering jazz into the kitchen for her to hum along to as she stirred pots and prepped sides… a lifetime ago.

“ _When I saw you there, sitting all alone in the dark, acting like you didn’t have a care…”_

He lowered the heat to a simmer and put the lid on, glancing up just in time for Angel Dust to hand him a tumbler of bourbon, a glass of wine held in his other hand.

“ _I knew right then, you’d be mine and we’d be dancing the whole damn night,”_

Alastor smiled wide, accepting the drink and taking the now free hand with his own, giving Angel Dust a twirl. The spider laughed as Alastor took a sip, swinging their arms in a halfhearted jive. They had at least half an hour to kill while the etouffe simmered, what better way to spend it?

“ _Oh baby,_ _I just want you to dance with me tonight.”_

Neither noticed Angel Dust’s phone light up with a notification “31 messages unread” all from the same number. _“Daddy’s getting angry, Angel Cakes…”_


	5. Won't Look Down Won't Open My Eyes

Angel Dust had a pole in his room, this Alastor knew. He’d seen it enough times while visiting the other demon in his room, but he’d never taken too much note of it as Angel Dust avoided it in his presence. It had been installed early on into the spider demon’s stay with the hotel and when Charlie had expressed concern at what such an item would mean for his chances of redemption, the performer had primly climbed up it, and used the spinning cover to twirl in a split with two of his arms out stretched with the middle finger up.

  
  
Charlie had decided that since it was in his room and not out in common areas it was fine to have for “exercise” and nothing further had been said about it.

It wasn’t until one random Sunday that Alastor found himself reminded of the pole’s true purpose. Angel Dust had been gone almost an entire week, called away by Valentino Tuesday evening, cutting one of “Angel’s Sing-A-Longs”, as he refused to stop calling them, short and no one had heard from him since.

He’d spoken to both Husker and Nifty, but neither had seen him coming in or out of the hotel, and after the third day of asking, Charlie had assured she would tell him the moment she received a text, though she looked just as worried.

“It’s been a while since he’s gone to the studio or one of those clubs he performs at,” Vaggie reasoned, “he probably had a back log of work to catch up on and hasn’t had a chance to check his messages.”

“He promised, though,” Charlie was peering down at her phone, five text messages ignored – one each morning and each evening since he’d left -, “that he’d check in once a day if he wasn’t coming back to the hotel… he hasn’t replied at all.”

Vaggie huffed, crossing her arms, “It’s Angel Dust. I’m sure he’s probably passed out in a pile of sex toys and will be back any time now.” At Charlie’s pained expression, she sighed. “If he’s not back in a week, we’ll go look for him, alright? Just… keep messaging him, I’m sure he’ll reply when he gets a chance.”

Charlie had nodded, but Alastor still felt uneasy. He resisted the urge to tap into the studio’s radio frequencies, reminded of the last time he’d tried and his room had been filled with the unsavory sounds of pornography being filmed – not exactly an experienced he hoped to repeat any time soon.

Two more days had passed and with still no sign of the spider, Alastor found himself making his way down to the lobby to coerce Husker to make the trip downtown with him, but when he passed Angel Dust’s door he could hear muffled singing inside.

So of course he let himself in.

“ _I’m gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier, I’m gonna live like tomorrow doesn’t exist, like it doesn’t exist…”_

Angel Dust was using the advantage of his long legs and extra arms as he clung to the spinning pole near the ceiling, allowing it to rotate as he cycled through positions. Body held away with one foot on the pole and the other bent, posed like a ballerina mid pirouette then arching himself back, both legs kicking out in separate directions before swinging them back together, using the grip of his arm to flip himself upside down, locking one knee and letting his arms loose as the pole spun him.

  
  
“ _I’m gonna fly like a bird through the night, feel my tears as they dry…”_

His body was nothing short of grace and athleticism as he moved into position changes that should have looked jerky, especially as he slipped inches between a few, but he always managed to catch himself without making it obvious. It wasn’t until the final bars of the song were playing and Angel was clinging with his left arms and leg, right outstretched as he spun with the momentum of the pole, that Alastor finally noticed the other man was clad only in a loose fitting tank top and a surprisingly short pair of shorts.

“ _I’m just holding for on for tonight, on for tonight, on for tonight…”_

He didn’t have a moment to become flustered, however, as Angel Dust slowed and Alastor noticed the large, purpling bruise on his cheek and right eye.

Angel Dust’s eyes opened and he blinked for a moment before his face screwed up in confusion and embarrassment, quickly scrambling back up the pole and perching near the top, out of Alastor’s reach.

“Jeez, Al, not even gonna knock anymore?”

Alastor’s smile sharpened and Angel had no further to climb as the ceiling kept him in his place – though the slow spin of the pole made his accusation fall that much flatter – it’s hard to maintain your righteous anger while you slowly rotate in mid air.

“Angel Dust, it’s been a while. If you would please.” He gestured to the floor, tilting his head.

Swallowing, Angel looked away, letting himself slide down a small amount. “Didn’t even throw me any singles. I do all that half naked for no tips?”

Alastor raised an eyebrow at the other man’s paper thin attempt at diverting his attention. With a flick of his wrist, two crisp dollar bills appeared and he gave them a lack luster toss towards the base of the pole. “Closer, if you please.”

Heeled feet finally hit the floor and his left arms crossed over to his right side, almost cradling them defensively. Alastor approached noting what appeared to be finger shaped bruises on Angel Dust’s arms, his legs, his _neck_ , and what appeared to be a swath of hastily applied bandages peeking out from the tank top. Alastor felt the buzz of static start to filter around him and attempted to maintain his cool.

He raised a hand up, pausing when Angel flinched away. His smile and eye twitched at that, gently cupping the other man’s face and turning his bruised features towards him.

“Al, stop-“

“Who did this to you?”

Angel bit his lip and flinched again as Alastor’s thumb brushed near the swollen flesh of his eye. He turned away instinctively and Alastor noted the bruises on his neck were definitely finger shaped, and in various stages of healing. This was more than one attack. Angel Dust’s lips trembled for a moment before he swallowed thickly, “Nobody. I’m clumsy. I fell.”

Stilted. Rehearsed. A canned excuse.

“Was it a customer?” Alastor pressed, moving his thumb away but not taking his hand from Angel’s cheek. Still not acceptable, but better than the alternative – he knew Angel Dust permitted a bit of… roughness when the price was right. Angel shook his head, arms defensively curling in an attempt to cover his bruises, the bandages, keeping his gaze averted and Alastor could see tears filming over them, clenching his smile tighter. “Angel Dust.”

“I… I fell, I’m clums… I…” Angel swallowed, his voice choking up. With a shuddering breath, he closed his eyes and began to recite in a defeated monotone. “I didn’t get to the studio fast enough. I didn’t answer when he called. What a useless whore, can’t even answer when their master calls. Use… useless.”

Alastor’s fingers twitched and, while Angel Dust flinched once more, he didn’t pull away. Alastor wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to, or because he’d been _trained_ not to. He softly stroked his thumb over Angel Dust’s cheek again before letting his hand fall away, noting how he seemed to lean forward, following the gentle touch.

“Why didn’t you return Charlie’s messages?”

Angel Dust took a shaky breath, “Didn’t… didn’t want her to see me using again... Not that I… I wasn’t… I didn't...” he cleared his throat, curling into himself. “When I tried to leave, Val… he uh… he wanted me more… cooperative. Coupla months of sobriety makes the coke hit harder, I guess… ‘specially when you’ve got three guys holding your face in it. Didn’t… didn’t want her thinking I’d fallen off the wagon on purpose after all her hard work with me…”

The static buzz took a sharp note at the shamed look on Angel Dust’s face. The bruises began to make much more sense, puzzle pieces slotting into place and a picture becoming much clearer to how Angel Dust had spent the last week away from the hotel.

“I’ll kill him.”

Angel’s head whipped up, locking fearful eyes with Alastor’s. “What?”

Alastor smiled wide, “I said I’m going to kill him.”

“Al, what. No, I… it’s fine, I’m fine. It’s just how Val handles things… I ignored him for too long, I knew what I was doing and what would happen,” his lower hands pulled on the tank top, attempting to hide the bandages peering over the top of his shorts and the bruises on his thighs – distinctly finger shaped bruises. “I’ll be fine. I’ve had way worse. There’s no reason to-“

“Why, my dear, of course there is!” Alastor resisted the urge to reach out again, taking note of each obvious injury. “I’ve needed a reason to destroy that little parasite and you’ve been lovely enough to give me the perfect one.”

Angel Dust huffed in disbelief, “A hooker getting slapped around is your call to action?”

“Of course not,” Alastor corrected. “ _You_ getting slapped around is my call to action.” He materialized his microphone stand, giving it a little spin at Angel’s surprised expression. “Now, I’ll be off. Be sure to tune in this evening for a very special broadcast!”

\--

Angel Dust sat on his bed, nestled amongst his mountain of pillows in one of his oversized sweaters with Fat Nuggets curled up against him, eyeing the radio on his night stand with trepidation. He had heard Vaggie describe the infamous “broadcasts” but he’d never experienced one himself.

As the clock slowly ticked over to 7:47, the radio came to life, lighting up and dials spinning on their own. The fuzz of the static filled the room and Angel Dust clutched a pillow to his chest, eyes wide as the static melted into words.

“ _Hello, dear listeners, and welcome to another broadcast! Today we have a very special guest_ -“ there was the sound of a door slamming open, “ _Valentino! Say hello to your audience!”_

“ _What the fuck are you doin’ here, Alastor? Who do you think you are just stormin_ -“

There was a crash and a groan, as if Valentino had been forced through an especially sturdy piece of furniture. Angel Dust pictured Valentino’s large mahogany desk splintering around him, able to hear the buzzing sound that had accompanied the spectre tentacles Alastor would spawn every so often, listening to Valentino curse and sputter, cut off by a sharp snap and a pained scream.

“ _Be sure to annunciate, Valentino! Really let the audience feel it! Can you describe what you’re experiencing? Shattered bone is such a unique feeling, I’m sure our listeners would love an insider’s perspective!”_

Another sharp snap, this time accompanied by a gurgling moan.

_“Oh, no no my good man! Did you never have elocution classes? You really need to work on your articulation – though the acoustics in here don’t do you any favors at all!”_

Angel Dust listened as Alastor continued conversationally, peppering in canned interview questions as the visceral sound of carnage and torture filtering through the speaker next to him. Angel recognized the sound of rope rubbing against itself and could imagine Alastor trussing Valentino up, raising him off the ground like a fresh kill for better ease of access.

“ _Now, the key is to not give the blood time to drain, my dear listeners. If you do that, your victim will simply… go to sleep and not feel a thing. And that’s not what we want,”_ there was the wet slice of a knife and another groan, “ _is it, Valentino? Of course not! We should be so lucky to draw this out as long,”_ another slice, “ _as_ ” and another, “ _possible.”_

The sound of blood dripping and pooling brought a smile to Angel Dust’s face as he remembered how anal Val was about keeping his floors waxed and shined. How angry he’d been when Angel Dust himself had bled on the tile after a firm backhand and how he’d made him lick it off the floor… and now it was Valentino’s blood spilled and staining.

Through it all, Valentino screamed and groaned until his voice went hoarse. The wet sound of blood in his respiratory track made him gurgle as if he were drowning, but the desperation only became worse and worse with each minute that passed. Through it all, Alastor was calm and composed, and Angel Dust could picture the smile on his face as he butchered the other man.

It went on for what seemed like eons but was barely an hour, the heavy sounds of flesh hitting the floor with dull thuds and the splatter of blood, Valentino’s vocalizations melting to mere wet, pained gasping, crackling out of his lungs with every forceful push.

“ _Now to get at that silver tongue of yours, Valentino…”_ Val’s sounds of desperation hit a high note, garbled and gurgling, coupled with the sound of bone crunching and a sharp blade slicing through flesh. With a final wet moan, the broadcast went silent save for Alastor’s soft breathing and the drip-drip-drip of blood.

“ _Hmmm, it appears our special guest has finally reached the end of our program. Let us all wish a fond farewell to overlord Valentino,”_ a laugh tracked played. “ _A_ _nd with that another broadcast has ended. I bid a good evening to you all, and, as always… stay tuned.”_

The radio returned to static and Angel Dust let the grip on his pillow relax.

He felt… overwhelmed. And empty. Like a hole inside him had been ripped open and then stuffed full, the original space not quite filled, cracks around the edges left void. Alastor had killed Val. Live, on the air, and brutally… because he had hurt him.

He’d spent the last few months struggling with how his relationship with Alastor was developing. With each passing day, he found himself enjoying his time with the Radio Demon more and more – often seeking him out just to be in his presence. He’d enjoyed singing for the other man, loved dancing with him… and had been surprised when Alastor had started seeking _him_ out in turn just to sit with him at the bar or while he lounged with Fat Nuggets. He’d spent evenings replaying their conversations, their interactions, sometimes with his face pressed into a pillow as he screamed his frustration, others with his face pressed into a pillow as he screamed his release at his own hand.

But Angel Dust was practical and had a healthy dose of skepticism. While he knew his feelings had changed and evolved, he couldn’t be sure the other man’s had. Just because he’d gone and killed Valentino didn’t mean anything. And if it did… what exactly?

What did it mean that Alastor would go and destroy another overlord simply for hurting him when he’d experienced much worse brutalities in the past? What would he want in return?

Could Angel Dust give it to him?


	6. Got You Shackled in my Embrace

Alastor had returned to the hotel and managed to avoid Charlie and Vaggie’s wrath as he trotted his way back up to Angel Dust’s room. Remembering the other man’s earlier protests, he knocked primly on the door only to receive no answer. He could hear Fat Nuggets snorting and snuffling inside but no other movement, and after another knock decided to let himself in.

Fat Nuggets was rooting around the entryway, scratching into the carpet, but there was no sign of Angel Dust. He saw the discarded outfit he’d been wearing earlier piled up next to the bed where pillows were disturbed, but even peering into the ensuite there was nothing to hint where the other man had gone. With a hum, he exited, making his way down the familiar halls towards their lounge.

The door was locked, but he could hear soft music filtering through from the other side. With a snap of his fingers, the door opened and he slipped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click.

“ _If there are boundaries I will try to knock them down…”_

Alastor approached quietly, not trying to interrupt the gentle performance before him. Angel Dust was leaning against the large bay window, peering out into the golden light as the sun finished setting. It cast a glow around him, diffusing in his fur and making him shine and, with a barely there flick of a wrist, Alastor’s over coat and microphone stand vanished.

“ _I feel we’re close enough… could I lock in your love, baby?”_

With scarcely a sound or a pause, he took Angel Dust’s hand and slowly twirled him into position, not surprised with how seamlessly the other man fell into step with him, hand resting warmly on his shoulder and bare fingers gently lacing with his own as he kept his two-tone gaze averted.

“ _Feel so enamored, hold me tight within your clutch. How do you do it, you got me losing every breath.”_

The hand Alastor had placed low on Angel’s back slid, pulling him closer as their steps swayed. Slower than any of the other dances they had performed together to match the soft tone of the other man’s voice, barely a whisper. Their joined hands lowered to hip level as Angel’s own hold relaxed, arm resting against Alastor’s bicep as finger tips barely dug into his shoulder. The spider seemed to melt into him, their perfectly set frame from previous dances falling to the wayside as feather soft hair brushed Alastor’s cheek and through it all, they kept swaying and slowly rotating.

_“What did you give me, to make my heart beat out my chest?”_

In any other time, Alastor would have tried to stumble the other man with a change of footwork or a spin, but as he tilted his head and felt the press of Angel Dust’s temple against his, he simply allowed them to shuffle their feet as Angel hummed before softly continuing to sing.

Without conscious thought, their feet slowed to a stop and Angel pulled back, looking down at Alastor – he often forgot he was taller than the radio demon, with how he slouched and Alastor seemed larger than life, it was always a surprise to be reminded he had almost a full head on the other man. But in this case, with the warmth of his body under his palms, his lower hands pressed between them and firm to Alastor’s chest where he could feel his heart beat and breath expand, Angel had only one thought.

“ _No I don’t wanna let, don’t wanna let go…_ ”

He couldn’t be sure who moved first, but suddenly their lips were touching. Angel’s grip on Alastor’s shoulder slipped, curling around the back of his neck, his lips parting as he leaned in to the kiss. To his surprise, Alastor didn’t pull back, the grip on his waist tightening, their clasped hands pressing into Angel Dust’s hip while his lower hands gripped into Alastor’s shirt.

They kissed for a few minutes, barely pausing for breath until Angel finally pulled back, resting his forehead against Alastor’s, keeping his eyes closed.

“You killed Val.”

“I did.”

Angel’s hands clenched tighter and his brow knit. “Why.”

Alastor’s own hand brushed up Angel’s spine, stroking over his shuddering back. “He hurt you.”

Unbidden, tears welled up in Angel Dust’s eyes and he resolutely kept his eyes closed in a futile attempt to stave them off. He tried to move away, hide his face, anything, but a gloved hand came and, much like earlier, gently cupped his cheek. He gave a firm push to Alastor’s chest, but the other man was unmoving.

“I’m not worth that effort,” he whispered, voice cracking.

“Of course you are,” Alastor responded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Angel sniffed, turning his face away. “Why would you think that?”

Angel Dust tried to wrench away, managing to press his bruised cheek right into Alastor’s hand, wincing and breathing in sharply through his teeth. Scowling, Angel Dust turned a teary glare as Alastor’s grip held firm. “Don’t you get it? I’m just some dumb whore, that’s all I’m good for at the end of the day. I have nothing to offer anyone except a half decent fuck and I wasn’t even doing that well enough to be useful.”

“Angel Dust.” Alastor’s tone was firm and Angel shut his mouth an audible click, glowering at his own weakness. Alastor sighed, his tone softening as he let his hand drop, taking two of Angel Dust’s into his own. “Darling, you must know that’s not true. You have so many redeeming qualities, it’s appalling to me that you’ve been made to feel this way. To… allow this sort of abuse and be surprised when someone gets upset on your behalf.” There was a long beat of silence and he sighed again, Angel picking up the telltale radio frequency shift as Alastor skimmed over channels. “This ain’t easy for me, cher, talking like this. You must know that, too, hm? It’s hard, but why don’t you tell me what this is really about.”

Angel Dust continued to scowl before after a long moment, the anger seemed to just melt out of him, his shoulders slumping and breath shakily leaving him. Nodding weakly, Angel Dust sniffed again. He cleared his throat before softly admitting, “I’m afraid.”

He felt Alastor stiffen a bit, “Of me?”

“No… I mean, sure, you’re terrifying,” Angel gave a wet laugh, another tear escaping down his face. “Anyone who looks at you and isn’t a little afraid is a fuckin’ moron… but you don’t scare me like that. You’re not some sort of… mindless monster, even with Val you could tell you were thinkin’ everything through... which I guess is scarier in some ways but that’s not it.”

He paused, mouth screwing up as his brow knit again. Alastor almost expected him to make a joke or try to deflect but instead Angel Dust surprised him yet again.

“I’m afraid of… this,” his lower arms gestured between the two of them. “You being nice to me. You never ask me for anything and I’m… I dunno, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He gave another laugh, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of a lower hand in a vain attempt at wiping away his tears, “You don’t wanna fuck me, or get me high… and you don’t need me to kill anybody for you… so I can’t figure out what you’ll end up asking me for and that’s frustrating. If I can’t give you anything what’ll keep you from gettin’ rid of me when you get bored?”

Alastor hummed, giving Angel Dust a moment to compose himself, wiping at his cheeks and taking a deep breath as the Radio Demon watched.

“All I’d ask you for is your company, cher.” He paused, smile widening with a small chuckle. “And your voice. Don’t think I could go on without your singin’ at this point. Even that horrible hip hop nonsense you seem to like so much.”

Angel Dust laughed, “You’re such an old man.”

“Barely older than you, cher, don’t you forget it.”

With no move of protest on Angel’s part, Alastor pressed another kiss to his lips. Angel Dust barely hesitated before melting into it, unoccupied hands folding around Alastor’s neck. All too soon he pulled back, eyes still teary but with a small smile.

“So…” Angel Dust asked, absent mindedly licking his lips. “Kissing’s okay… is anything else negotiable on the five foot rule?”

“I’m sure we can work something out,” Alastor grinned, tightening his grip on Angel’s hand and giving him a twirl, catching them back in the relaxed frame of their previous dance, tapping his temple against Angel’s in what someone with no self preservation might have described as a nuzzle. “For now, I think this is quite nice.”  
  


\--

“There you are,” Alastor smiled as Angel Dust closed the door behind him and the spider demon preened under his gaze, approaching the wingback chair and pressing a kiss to the top of Alastor’s head. He heard music already filtering through the air and made note of an old fashioned radio settled on the table next to the fireplace.

“There you are,” he echoed, stepping back so Alastor could stand up, taking his hand and leading him to the middle of the room. They stepped into frame with ease and with a twist of his hand, Alastor raised the volume on the radio.

“That’s new,” Angel commented, nodding towards the addition to the room.

Alastor made a noise of assent, sweeping them into a graceful waltz. “How was your day?”

“Good. Cherri had me sit in on a rehearsal with some of her girls… the studio is really shaping up now and I really think the burlesque night is gonna bring in a lot of new business, especially branching out into the circus style stuff… I thought about doing a routine for the talent show next month. Charlie banned pole dancing but didn’t say anything about silks.”

Chuckling, Alastor nodded, “I’m sure it will be quite impressive, though I doubt it will top last year’s performance.”

Angel Dust smirked, “Well, if a certain somebody would get on stage with me, I’m sure we could blow ‘em out of the water. His tango is really coming along, but with a teach like me that’s just to be expected.” Alastor abruptly changed their direction, smirking when Angel Dust fell into step without missing a beat, laughing along as their steps circled the floor in a grand sweep. “Anyways, I had some free time after I got back and Nifty left the kitchen open, I made some pasta so I can treat you to dinner tonight, too. A fancy one, with candles and all that shit.”

“You spoil me, cher.”

Angel Dust beamed, “Well, I had to do something top that jazz bar you took me to last week. I can’t let ya be more romantic than me, my Italian blood won’t stand for it.”

“It’s not a competition.”

“Yeah it is, and I’m gonna win,” Angel Dust declared proudly, puffing out his chest. “You’re gonna be so romanced you won’t even know what hit ya!”

Alastor hummed again, smiling at him indulgently as the current song faded out and another, slower one started that had Angel leaning closer, their frame falling into a more relaxed sway. He rested his head against Alastor’s, following his twirling steps with ease as the sound of piano, snare, and string filtered through the room.

“ _Quand il me prend dans ses bras, il me parle l’a tout bas, je vois la vie en rose…”_

Angel Dust’s eyes snapped open as Alastor’s voice rumbled against his ears and he pulled back far enough to see that, no, he was not hearing things. Alastor was singing, _in French,_ tilted with that absolutely maddening accent of his. He was also staring right at him, gaze soft as he sang. He _melted_ , feeling his face flush and sure his fluff was pinkening as he swayed alongside the other man.

“You’re such a cheat,” he groused, letting his head rest back onto Alastor’s as the radio demon chuckled, arm curling just so along his spine.

“ _Il est entré dans mon coeur, une part de bonheur, dont je connais la cause…”_

It wasn’t until the end of the song that Angel Dust surprised him by singing along in… exceptionally poorly accented French. But Alastor only laughed, pressing a kiss to Angel Dust’s temple. “ _Et d_ è _s que je l’aper_ ç _ois, alor je sens en moi… mon coeur qui bat…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who read, commented, kudos'd, bookmarked... I haven't been inspired to write for a pairing in such a long time but these two degenerates just really do it for me. I hope you all enjoyed this story and I hope to be inspired again soon! Again, if anyone wants to draw or do anything inspired by this work I would absolutely LOVE to see it so please let me know!!


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